


Roses and Guns

by sameold_sameold



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast, Enemies to Friends, M/M, Possible Character Death, Singing, They get a happy ending, is thomas a furry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-05-19 09:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14871105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sameold_sameold/pseuds/sameold_sameold
Summary: To pay the heavy price of pride for failing to look past one's superficial beauty, a powerful enchantress curses a self-absorbed and cold-hearted Virginian to a life of solitude, transforming him into an appalling beast, and the house's servants into sentient household objects. But, as the years pass by in the desolate palace, an inadvertent mistake will condemn the estranged writer, Alexander, to imprisonment within the thick-walled fortress, as the mansion's master desperately seeks love's warm embrace. The Beast trembles with fear knowing that his time is short, yet hope still lies in a frail rose's last petal.





	1. Chapter 1

Alexander was tired. Exhausted, one could argue. 

This wasn’t anything new. Alexander Hamilton had a history of being tired, being that he never slept. 

But this was more of an emotional tired than physical. 

George Frederick wouldn’t leave him alone. Which wouldn’t have been a problem had the teasing been like before. Threats, names, general teasing and mocking. But somehow, as soon as Alexander hit 21, Frederick’s constant bothering turned into something a lot more… disturbing, for lack of better way to put it. 

To put it simply, no one knew George Frederick was gay before this turn of events.

Instead of threats, he got flirts. Pet names, compliments, the odd lewd comment that made Frederick’s best friend/lackey turn bright red. Alexander was running out of witty, sarcastic replies to it all and in all honestly, if it came down to it he’d rather get a cactus shoved up his ass than ever consider marrying ‘King’ George Frederick III. 

Of course, George wasn’t his only problem, not by far. In their little corner of the world, the little town of Rochambeau, Alexander was seen as strange. He was strange indeed, but not in a bad way. He wasn’t interested in women, you see, or marrying or settling down. Not that this was the most -- thing in that Rochambeau After all, the town hero was apparently gay as well, wasn’t he? He didn’t particularly want to fight in any war either, unlike most men his age. He had, once, but after realizing his father would be left alone if he joined a war, he shot down that idea and decided to stick to writing. 

Alexander was a brilliant writer. He worked wonders with a pen in his hand. Built entire cities with words, identities, universes. His work could not only win awards, it could change the world, if only it ever got out of Rochambeau, which was highly unlikely. No one in their primeval little town understood what he wrote, which left his father as his only critic. Not that that was a bad thing. George Washington did not sugarcoat things for anyone, family or not. But only having one opinion on everything he wrote was little help. 

Everytime he went out, people talked behind his back like he didn’t have ears and couldn’t hear them right behind him. Odd. Funny. Different. No one came right out and said it, but they wanted him gone, he could tell. It wasn’t hard to figure out. The looks he got and the whispers whenever they thought he wasn’t listening were enough to make him go insane. He wanted out. Needed out. He wanted to live, to explore, to learn, but he couldn’t leave Washington, and they didn’t have nearly enough money to take both of them around. 

So he’d have to wait. Washington went out every month with a folder of Alexander’s writings, to the next town over, in hopes of finding someone to publish them. If they could just find a publisher, they could get so much money, they could leave Rochambeau. It was a dream they both shared, and yet a dream that seemed so far out of reach. 

One particular morning, Washington was preparing to leave. He’d only be gone a couple days, he was never gone long. Didn’t trust anyone in the town. He and Alexander were both estranged, but Washington was at least respected in some way. When he was around, no one seemed to bother Alexander. It was a sort of unspoken rule. Not many people in Rochambeau agreed with the way Washington viewed certain things, but no one would ever say it to his face. But when he was gone, it was a sort of a free pass at Alexander. Not that the young man ever took it. He’d snark everyone in that town into the next week. But getting ganged up on took a lot out of him emotionally. 

So he tried to stay indoors, for the most part. He stayed in, writing and reading and cleaning and doing everything he could to avoid going outside. Eventually, however, he realized he had to water his plants or they’d die, and then they’d have less food for winter. Not that winter was coming soon, it was only mid July. He stood at the door, watering can in hand, and squared his shoulders, trying to talk himself up into going outside before he changed his mind completely. Finally, he took in a big breath and swung open the door to reveal King George, with his fist raised to knock. Or more, to bang against the wood, if how he was poised was any indication. 

“Oh! Um, good morning,” Alexander said, doing best to uphold at least some semblance of politeness. He wondered briefly how long it would last. He didn’t have the most astounding patience.

King took a moment to gather himself, but smirked down at Alexander as if nothing was wrong, leaning against the doorframe rather rudely. “Good morning, darling. I couldn’t help but notice you haven’t come out of your little hovel in the past few days, and came to ensure you were alright,” he said, holding out a bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Brightly colored flowers that looked suspiciously familiar. Alexander tilted his head, glanced past King to look at his garden. Yep. An empty spot where the bunch used to grow. 

He sighed and looked back up at King, forcing his lips into a tight smile. “Yes, I’m absolutely great. Thank you, these are lovely. Where’d you get them?” he asked shortly, taking the flowers carefully. He hadn’t even bothered to rip the roots off. Alexander wondered, briefly, if he could just replant them, but it wasn’t the most important thing on his mind. It certainly didn’t precedent getting rid of the man in his doorway.

King waved his hand vaguely, completely brushing off the question. “So, Alexander, dear.” He leaned a bit closer, and Alexander resisted taking a step back. He could not under any circumstances lead this  _ thing  _ further into his home. Not when he just cleaned it. “I’ve decided it’s time for you to get your mind off these books and.. And stories, and onto something much more… important.” 

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, did you have in mind that could be more important than my books?” He asked dryly. 

King grinned, evidently glad he asked. “Me, of course. What else?” Alexander had to keep from rolling his eyes. “What do you say, sweetheart? You’d make a very beautiful bride.”

Cue full-body shiver. “Real nice of you to offer, but hard pass. No.” Alexander shoved King off his doorway and pushed the door closed with only minor difficulties, giving him a nasty look as it closed. He rested his head against the door, listening closely for footsteps to retreat. After a short moment, he decided King was gone, but he went out his back door anyway, just to be sure. 

He stepped out onto the little deck, glancing around cautiously until he was sure there was no one but the chickens to see him. He quickly went around the garden, watering his plants and making sure they were all healthy and well. He hurried back into the house, slamming the door closed and resisting the urge to lock it. No, he wouldn’t be dramatic. He settled for wedging a chair under the handle, nodding. That would do it.

He went to the window, scowling. Not even a foot out the door and already he was borderline harassed. “His bride? Can you imagine? Like I’d ever marry  _ that. _ ” He shivered a bit, tying his hair back. “No. Not ever. I don’t want to get married!” He laughed, spinning as he wandered through the little house. “I want adventure! I want to see and learn and experience, not be tied down by someone who thinks he’s god's gift to the world.” 

He smirked a bit to himself, fluffing up his hair, then dropped his hand, his face taking on a more muted expression. “Not that it wouldn’t be nice to have someone… just to understand. Someone who would understand what I want, what I need,” he murmured to himself, looking out the window overlooking the valleys surrounding Rochambeau thoughtfully.


	2. Chapter 2

Washington should’ve been home by now. 

Alexander was growing increasingly more worried as the days went on. He spent most of the day by the window, watching for any sign that he was home, but it never came. It had been days. 

He wasn’t sure if anyone else in the town realized there was anything wrong, but no one came to the door to offer sympathy or reassurance. Alexander was on his own. Except for King, but he didn’t really count him as sympathy, or reassurance, or even a decent person. 

Alexander sat in his room in the window seat, looking out the window. There was a book open in his lap, but nothing he read stuck in his mind, so he just stared out, over rooftops into the horizon. Worry was rising in his chest, and he almost let it overcome him. But he remembered what George taught him about letting his emotions, especially the negative ones, get the best of him, and took a couple deep breaths, closing his eyes. He was fine. George was fine. Everything would be just fine.

It was another day before he got any indication of whether or not Washington was even alive.  It came in the form of his horse, still saddled and bridled and looking very spooked and even more exhausted. Alexander questioned the animal, as if he could reply, and fed him, made sure he had water. 

“Philip, where’s George?” He asked softly, stroking his mane gently. Philip lifted his head, whinnied softly. Alexander looked at him curiously. “Do you know where he is? Can you bring me to him?” 

Alexander apologized as he resaddled the poor horse and pulled his cloak on. He swung himself onto Philip’s back and let him bring him to where George was. 

 

It took almost half an hour to get there. 

The ‘there’ in question was a huge house - a mansion, really. It was gorgeous. Red brick and white roofing and huge windows and columns. There was greenery everywhere, huge gardens, and the amount of time it took to get from the start of the pathway up to the actual front door was just ridiculous. It made Alexander’s heart hurt, it was so beautiful. 

He slid off of Philip, tying the reins to a gate post a little ways away from the door. He stared up at the building. It was daunting, and he didn’t even know if Washington was even there. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and walked up the steps, taking them two at a time. He knocked on the door, and was surprised when it opened at the gentlest touch. “Hello?” He asked loudly, stepping inside slowly. 

Deafening silence. It made Alexander shiver. 

“Is there anyone here?” He asked, a bit louder, trying to stomp as he walked further in, just to make some noise. It was so quiet, it made his hair stand on end. There seemed to be whispers behind him, but when he turned, there was nothing there. Just the front door, which was closed despite Alexander leaving it open. When did that happen? He took a couple steps backwards, further into the room. It was just as beautiful inside than out, still royal and clean. Dusty though, Alexander noted as he ran his fingers over a marble bust. Everything looked so perfectly in place. 

He spun, looking up at the high ceiling, then took a couple more steps. There were a couple ways to go, and he had no clue which would take him where. He supposed he had time though, and took one doorway into a little room with blue walls covered in pictures. A lot of the glass had been broken, and the portraits seemed haunting and eerie. He hurried through into the next room, a library or a study, he decided. 

It was wonderful. There were so many books, hundreds of different books. Compared to Rochambeau, where he had a dozen and had to cycle through them, this was heaven.. But he reluctantly continued on. As much as he wanted to stay and look through the books, he still needed to find Washington. He followed the hallway and ended up in the same entrance hall. He sighed and went the other way. He went through the entire library - it took up two rooms! - before finding a small spiral staircase, barely shoulder-width. 

He held tight onto the banister and hurried up, listening for any kind of noises that could indicate the presence of Washington. He wandered around, trying doors and groaning in frustration. “George!” He yelled, praying for some kind of response. There was a faint knocking from above him. He swore and found another set of stairs, hurrying through the hallways, trying every door handle. Some opened, and he went through, but they led to empty rooms or outside to the veranda. He knocked on the doors, until he heard a voice from behind one of the doors in the middle of the lit hallway. 

“Alexander?” He almost cried out in relief - the voice was Washington’s. 

He hurried towards the door, stumbling frantically. “Yes, it’s me. I can’t- the door is locked, I’ll need a key.” He jiggled the doorknob, but it wouldn’t budge. 

“Alexander, listen to me. You have to leave here.” Washington’s voice went stern and solemn, and Alexander could picture his face so clearly. 

“Leave? Are you insane? No, I’m gonna get you out. Is there anyone else here?” 

“Yes, there’s someone else here, and they’re the reason I’m stuck in here. You need to get out before he finds you too,” Washington said, and his voice went strained suddenly, like something was caught in his throat. 

“George? Are you okay? Oh god, you’re sick, aren’t you? You’ve been gone for days, are they even feeding you?” Alexander slid down to the ground, trying to look through the keyhole. 

“That doesn’t matter,” George said quickly, and Alexander knew he was right. George wasn’t being fed. “I don’t matter anymore, it’s quite unlikely that I survive. You can. You can leave right now, go back to Rochambeau and live your life.” 

Alexander bit back a cry. “I can’t leave you, I’m not just going to abandon you here- god, it won’t budge-” He pushed and pulled with all his might, but the door wouldn’t move. He was about to shove his shoulder into it, when the floor behind him creaked. He spun, falling back against the door, but the entire hallway was suddenly completely dark, the doors to the outside were closed despite him leaving them open for light. “H-hello?” he asked quietly, fear and uncertainty coursing through him .

“What are you doing here?” The voice was low, gruff, and made Alexander want to cry. 

Instead, he stood up straighter, looking down the hall where he could sort of make out a dark silhouette. “Unlock this door,” he ordered, trying to keep his voice clear and unwavering. 

“Are you telling me what to do in my own house?” The figure laughed, moving to step forward. “Precious.” 

The words sent shivers down Alexander’s spine and he pressed back against the door. “I-I said, let him go.  _ Please. _ ” He didn’t want to cower. He wasn’t going to give in easily. 

The owner of the house walked forward slowly, almost at a snail-like pace. Alexander’s breath caught in his throat, his heart rate picked up. There wasn’t any light. He couldn’t even see the person’s face. “You think I’ll listen to you?” 

“Please, I just want to see him. He’s my father, and he’s sick because of you!” Alexander shoved a bit at the stranger’s chest. He hardly moved, just laughed. 

“Is it customary where you’re from, to feed and care for your prisoners?” He snapped, looming over Alexander. The stranger towered over him. 

“What did he do?” Alexander asked, his voice weaker than he anticipated.  _ ‘Don’t cower, don’t give in. Don’t cower, don’t give in.’  _

“He trespassed! Is that not enough?” 

“To condemn him to die? Are you insane?” 

The figure huffed, turned away. Alexander took a deep breath, calmed himself down. Yelling and getting upset would get him nowhere. Washington was concerningly quiet on the other side of the door. He needed to figure something out, he couldn’t leave Washington. Couldn’t let him die. 

“What if I… What if I took his place?” He asked suddenly, perking up. 

“Took his place? Why would you do that?” 

Alexander frowned up into the darkness. “Wouldn’t you? If your father was going to die.. Wouldn’t you do anything to save him?” 

“If my father was still alive, I’d kill him with my bare hands,” the stranger hissed, stepping closer to Alexander. “Are you really willing to take his place?” 

Alexander nodded. “I’d do anything for him. Anything.” 

The figure hummed, seemed to inspect Alexander, making the boy shrink slightly. “Fine.” He reached out, and Alexander almost screamed until he realized there was a key in the man’s hand - he was unlocking the door. He sighed a bit, leaned forward so he wouldn’t fall when the door opened. He swayed close to the stranger and immediately recoiled. 

“You smell like a dog. No offense. Or full offense.” He coughed, covering his mouth.

“Oh, thank you,” he said sarcastically, growling slightly. 

“What? I’m serious. It’s like you’re just.. A bunch of dogs under that hood.” 

“That’s not far from the truth.” The stranger pulled his hood down and even in the darkness, Alexander could see the outline of something much bigger than a human. He seemed to have a lot of hair.. All over his face. 

“What the hell are you..?” 

“Don’t make me change my mind,” came the low reply, but the door was pushed open behind him. 

Alexander stumbled into the room past him, wrapping his arms around Washington with a loud sigh of relief. He wasn’t dead. Yet. “You look so sick,” he murmured. 

“You can’t stay here, Alexander, I’ll be f-” Washington cut himself off with a long cough, his face going slightly red. 

“You’re not fine! Stop saying you’ll be fine. You’re going back to Rochambeau and you’re getting better. You are not going to die in this place,” Alexander said stubbornly, pushing him towards the door. If Washington died, and Alexander had the chance to prevent it happening, he’d never forgive himself. 

“Alexander, I can’t let you stay here.” 

“You keep saying that.” 

“Make up your minds! This door will close in two minutes, and once it’s closed, it  _ will not  _ open again.” 

Alexander almost glared at the.. The  _ thing _ in the doorway, but just focused on Washington. “Look. I’m not leaving this room. I refuse to leave this room. You can’t stay here. Everything I am is because of you, I can’t let you just die like this. Please. Go home.” He could tell Washington was about to protest, so he shifted and pushed him into the stranger, pushing the door closed with a grunt. 

“Alex! Alexander, no,” Washington gasped, grabbing at the door handle. 

The figure was bewildered at the choice, but wasted no time in dragging Washington down the stairs away from the door, away from Alexander.

“I’ll get out, I promise!” Alexander shouted through the door, but there came no reply as he listened to them retreat until all was silent again.


	3. Chapter 3

Alexander hadn’t even been there a day, and already he was giving up. Quite unlike him. Every so often, he’d try the handle, just to check that it didn't magically unlock itself, but to no avail. Locked, locked, locked. 

The room was a dome, an uneven octagon, with windows all around the sides. The walls were a cheery yellow, but the paint was chipped and dirty. The floors were green, much like the entrance hall. Alexander was tired of looking at it. He looked out the windows, but really all he could see was the sky and the trees. A little bit of ground, but far away - the veranda went too far out to see much of the ground around the house. 

He’d wondered, briefly, if he could perhaps break a window and climb out. There wasn’t      anything to break the window with, however. The room was empty except for him and the dust. Not that he was above using his fists, of course, but he didn’t have anything to treat the impending wounds with. A last resort, he decided. 

A little while later, and Alexander was seriously considering it. Otherwise, he was out of hope of ever getting out. He was about to rip off the hem of his skirt to wrap his hand when he heard the unmistakable sound of a key in a lock, and he spun just as the door swung in to reveal.. Nothing. There was no one there. 

“Hello?” He asked carefully, taking a step forward. There was nothing in the room to protect himself with. Nothing but his fists, yet again. He took another step towards the door, half expecting something to pop out at him, but nothing did. He seemed to be completely alone. He squared his shoulders and walked out, looking back into the dome room. At least in there it was somewhat safe. 

He closed the door behind him, made sure it closed tight and turned to hurry down the hall - except that now, there was something in his way. Not that it was very big - a candlestick. A candelabra, to be exact. He looked around, looking for someone who could have put it there. The hallway was deathly silent, empty except for him and the candelabra. All the doors were still closed as well, nowhere anyone could have slipped into in the couple seconds he’d turned to close the door. 

He swore under his breath. Just his luck. Not just a prisoner in a huge house that belonged to an asshole, but a prisoner in a huge  haunted  house that belonged to an asshole that possibly wasn’t even human. He was about to just move along, hurry past it and find his way back out, except that the thing moved then, looked up at Alexander like a short person would. Had he looked closer, Alexander would have seen that the candlestick was shaped just like a person - in fact, the object was a little gold person with candles instead of hands, and a candle on his head. The gold was slightly dull, aged, but there was still a distinct sparkle about him. 

Alexander was about to scream, but then it talked, completely catching him by surprise. “Sorry for the intrusion, mon cher, but I have come to escort you to your room!” The voice was heavily accented. French.

The scream caught in his throat, and Alexander didn’t know what to say. His room? He thought he was a prisoner. And why was he thinking so hard about answering a candlestick? “I thought this was my room?” He said finally, touching the door to the Dome room gently. 

The candlestick laughed. “Mais non, mais non. You don’t really believe that? You are not a prisoner here, you are a guest!” 

“A guest!” Another voice followed the french one, a gruffer, louder voice. Alexander turned to find a clock waddling towards him. A small clock that looked as though it was wearing a sort of hat. “Finally, new blood! Well.. blood at all.” Strangely, his voice was heavily American.

“What are you?” Alexander asked, confused, looking at both of them warily. Was this a trick?

The candlestick laughed. “I am Lafayette, here to assist you, and this is Hercules, our mantle clock. Now, come along, mon cher, we will bring you to your room.” 

Alexander turned back to the french voice, nodding slightly despite himself. “Um, okay then.” He wasn’t sure why he trusted these.. Anthropomorphic pieces of furniture, but he found he did, completely. Perhaps it was the easy way they spoke to each other as they descended the stairs, laughing as though they were best friends. Perhaps they were - it wasn’t the weirdest thing he could think of. 

They were giving him a sort of tour, he realized. Hercules was pointing out different rooms, directions, and Lafayette was pitching in fun facts and jokes along the way. Finally, back on the second floor, Alexander started to recognize where they were. He almost just ditched them and ran to the front door, but then there was something swirling around his head, dizzying him. 

“John, my darling!” Lafayette reached up, brushing the feathers of the duster that had been flying around him. It was a very fancy, blinged out feather-duster, thought Alexander, inspecting the thing that was now wrapped carefully in Lafayette’s arms, flirting with the candle. The handle, which seemed to be a bird’s head and neck, had jewels strewn across the face. He realized they looked a bit like freckles. A freckled bird feather-duster. 

Hercules cleared his throat, and the two looked up. Lafayette smiled wryly, turning to look up at Alexander. “My apologies. This is my dear love, John.” The feather-duster lifted a wing, and Alexander waved back.  Waving at an object? What has my life come to? 

“If you’re quite finished, we have a room to show him?” Hercules asked, his tone amused and yet still slightly irritated. Lafayette seemed to scoff, but nodded, letting go of John, who flew ahead to a door near the back of the house. 

“ Et maintenant,  mon cher, I present to you, your room.” Lafayette motioned to the door and, as if by magic, it swung open. The room was rounded, with a fireplace and a window and an alcove bed. There was also a desk with stacks of papers and quills on it. The entire room seemed to be covered in a thick layer of dust. 

“Oh dear. Don’t worry, I can have this place cleaned up in no time,” John told him, flitting past. Alexander watched, then turned to Lafayette and Hercules. 

“It’s very nice, but I can’t stay here. I have to go home.” 

The two shared a glance. “About that.. You can’t leave,” Hercules said slowly. “You’re the only one who can.. Well, you’re the only new person who’s been here in literally forever.” 

“Call us selfish, but we’d like to keep you. At least for a little while,” Lafayette added, sounding hopeful. Alexander bit his lip, looked around the room. 

“What about.. Him? The man who imprisoned my father and then me?” 

“Our master is.. Well, temperamental,” Lafayette explained slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. Hercules snorted and got a gold elbow in the side. “He has a good reason, of course, but still. He does not know how to control his temper. And, I am thinking, as long as he does not learn that you are having a room, we will all be okay.” 

“He doesn’t even know you gave me a room? Isn’t that a bad idea?” 

“Perhaps.” 

Alexander scowled a bit. He was sort of afraid of the master of the house, and definitely did not want to be on the receiving end of any anger. At the same time, however, he didn’t want to stay in that empty room. He was getting tired of it, and at least this had an actual bed. And a desk! 

“Fine. I’ll stay for a little bit. But I have to go eventually. Okay?” 

All three of them shared a glance, and Lafayette nodded, plastering on a smile. “Deal. Now, if there is anything else you require, simply give a shout, we will come. Dinner will be served at 6 o’clock.” They backed and the doors closed, leaving Alexander alone in the silence once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought I would mention that there is nothing, or at least very little, that happens in this story that doesn't happen in the Disney Beauty and the Beast movies, the new and the old. I wanted it to be as close to the Disney films as possible for my friend who I wrote this for.


	4. Chapter 4

Alexander explored the room, looking through the papers on the desk - all blank - and searching through the dresser and the closet. He was just about to give up when something burst open behind him. He jumped, spinning, ready to throw a punch or two. The only thing there, however was a wardrobe that seemed to be smiling down at him. Another piece of talking furniture? He hadn’t even noticed the thing in the corner of the room.

“Well, hello,” said the wardrobe, leaning down towards him. Despite the seemingly main theme of white in the room, the wardrobe was a light pink, almost something you’d put in a child’s room. 

“Hello,” Alexander replied, trying to smile politely. “Who’re you?” 

“I am Angelica, your wardrobe. Finally, some company. You’re quite cute.” 

Alexander’s eyes widened and his cheeks darkened. Hit on by a wardrobe. That’s a first. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Lafayette said you were going to dinner, hm? .. Are you planning to wear that?” 

Alexander hadn’t been planning on going to the dinner either way, not if the master would be there. But - “What do you mean? This is my favorite dress!” He clutched at the blue skirts, holding them almost protectively. 

“Oh, of course, it’s very pretty. But blue isn’t your color, dear. How about…” The drawers opened and fabrics flew out, and suddenly Alexander was covered in heavy silks and fancy linens. Very unfamiliar feelings. He was being spun around, ribbons whizzing past his ears, catching in his hair. It was making him dizzy. 

Finally it all stopped and Angelica gasped, holding her ‘arms’ out. “Look at you. Another job well done!” She laughed a bit loudly, making Alexander wince slightly, before she went seemingly lifeless. He tapped her side a bit, frowning. A snore erupted, and he jumped back. Well then. 

He turned, looked down at himself. He was still wearing his blue dress, thank god, just with a golden yellow fabric hung over it like an overcoat, tied together with different sized ribbons and other filmy fabrics. He shrugged everything off and folded the yellow fabric, planning to make something for later with it. He fixed his hair, combed his fingers through the slightly tangled mess. 

Now.. how to get out? He hurried to the window, looked out. It wasn’t locked, just.. A little high up. He could probably get out quite easily, if he just had.. Something… 

A knock on the door distracted him from looking for something to hang out the window. “Um, who is it?” 

“It’s just Elizabeth, dear.” The door swung open and a tea tray rolled in, holding a delicate blue and white teapot with a matching teacup. “Oh, you are gorgeous.” The detailed painted face smiled up at him, and he couldn’t help smile back a little. 

“I’m Alexander,” he introduced himself, despite her already probably knowing that. He wouldn’t be surprised if everyone in this place knew his name before bedtime. 

“A pleasure to meet you, honey.” 

The teacup bounced off the tray and slid towards Alexander, who carefully scooped it up. The cup’s face looked like Elizabeth’s, only with freckles and a bright grin which seemed to be missing some painted teeth. “My name is Philip!” 

“Lovely to meet you, Philip,” Alexander said softly, smiling back at the cup. He was adorable. 

“Lafayette says you’re not staying long,” Elizabeth said, the tray rolling forward towards the open window. “It’s a very long journey home.” 

Alexander watched her, head tilted slightly. “I know. But I have to… I can’t leave my father so easily. I can’t give up.” 

Elizabeth stared at him for a short moment then smiled warmly. “Your determination is enough to keep anyone inspired, honey. I hope, however, that in the time you’re here, no matter how short it might be, that we can be friends.” 

Alexander smiled back at her, nodding. “I think that’d be very nice,” he told her. Everyone there seemed so friendly and nice, with the exception of the master, but who was really counting him? 

“Now, as for dinner-” 

“Oh, it’s alright, I’m not going.” Alexander ignored her look. “Not if I’ll be eating with that..  _ Monster. _ ” 

Elizabeth sighed heavily, turning back to the window. “I know it’s hard, honey, but you have to try. Our master has been very lonely for a very long time.”

“So, what, he kidnaps people to not feel so lonely anymore? Kind of a dick move, you have to admit.” 

Elizabeth at least smiled at his frankness. “Don’t judge a book by it’s cover, dear. Get to know him. Go to dinner.” 

Alexander hesitated. He knew she was right. But still.. He was a stubborn person, he knew it. He lived up to it as much as possible. And yet, something about Elizabeth made him wanna just give everything up and just go to dinner. She was sweet. For a teapot. 

Finally, he gave in. “Alright, fine. But if he’s rude to me, I’m coming right back up here. Deal?” He raised an eyebrow. 

She grinned. “Deal. Now, I don’t mean to press or insult you, but are you really going to wear that? The master doesn’t necessarily expect a three piece suit, but perhaps something a little nicer..?” 

If it had been Angelica again, Alexander might have scowled. But he honestly couldn’t bring himself to scowl at Elizabeth. “There’s a little problem there, you see. I don’t have any other clothes.” 

Elizabeth’s painted mouth made a little ‘o’. “That does seem to be a problem.. Does Angelica not have anything for you to wear?” 

“Nothing that’s not heavy or jeweled or flashy.” 

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. Apparently, this was normal for the wardrobe. “She gets better, I promise. She was fine before.. Well, and then she let the clothes and fabrics all go to her head and now she’s flashy and fanciful. I never understood it.” Alexander believed her. Even though she was only houseware, he could picture her never wearing anything big or stupidly fancy. Much like himself, he supposed. 

“I’m sure he’ll understand, right? I mean… it’s not like I came with a suitcase, ready to stay for apparently the rest of my life. He can’t be that horrible.” Even as he said it with as much confidence as he did, he couldn’t bring himself to even believe it. His mind brought up images of the figure on the stairs - the figure much too large to be a normal human, the hair and the growling. 

And he called himself smart? 

Elizabeth nodded, looking incredibly doubtful. Well, great. If there’s one way to make someone feel better… but she didn’t say anything more about it. “Then we’ll send someone up to get you when dinner is served, how about that?” Her smile was warm again, and Alexander found himself smiling back, even with the doubt and slight fear growing inside of him. 

Minutes later and he was alone again, feeling like he might explode with questions. Everything was catching up to him, it would seem. Why did all the furniture talk? What was Washington doing at that moment? Was he really stuck for the rest of his life? And what exactly  _ was _ this master of theirs? 

Alexander shook his head, trying to clear his mind. He closed the window, latched it tightly. He’d eat. He was hungry, after all, and a place as nice as this had to have some good food, right? Maybe he could even steal some when he escaped, bring some for Washington. It would certainly make him feel better. 

He stretched out on the bed, marvelling at how comfortable it was. It literally felt like a cloud. He closed his eyes, a happy sigh leaving his lips, and shifting, arching his back and wiggling into the blankets. He didn’t even notice himself falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm the worst! I know that! I didn't have access to a good computer all summer, but we're back with a hopefully semi-regular posting schedule!
> 
> Also if this is formatted weirdly or differently than normal, it's because I'm updating this from a phone and can't really fix it.


	5. Chapter 5

It was only later, when he was woken up by incessant knocking against the door that he realized he’d missed the entire beginning of dinner. Shit.

He scrambled up, running his fingers through his hair and trying to straighten his collar. “Yeah? Yeah, sorry, I’m-” 

His rambling was interrupted by a loud slam on the door, so hard Alexander was seriously concerned it might break. “I thought you were told to join me for dinner!” 

Oh, he knew that voice. He stood up a bit straighter, eyes narrowing at the door in front of him. Had it been Elizabeth or Lafayette or anyone else, he would have been fine. He would have apologized profusely. He wouldn’t get pissed. “Yeah, I changed my mind about coming,” he replied dryly, knowing it was probably the worst idea. Very few of his ideas didn’t get him in trouble. 

There was some shuffling on the other side of the door, some mumbling. Another slam on the door. “I am the master of this house, you will listen to me!” 

“You might be the master of this house, but you are  _ not _ the master of me!” Alexander was fuming, all 5’7 of him. He would not be told what to do by some.. Whatever this guy was. He should really figure that out. 

There was a loud growl outside the door, and Alexander could hear softer voices, trying to reassure this beast. He stalked to the door, hand on the knob. He gathered himself up, listened to the calming words and voices, picking out each one individually for a moment of distraction before yanking the door open…

And came face to face with a dog. Literally. 

Or, perhaps, not a dog. He wasn’t sure what to call him. He didn’t have a long snout, so he supposed it wasn’t a dog. He had long teeth and horns poking out of a puff of fur that looked a suspicious lot like regular hair. It wasn’t at all what Alexander expected, and he recoiled a little bit. Not only was his face a definite sight to see, he really did smell like dog. 

Everyone in the hallway was looking up at Alexander in surprise - with the exception of the beast, of course, he loomed over Alexander. They were all frozen in place until the beast huffed, turning away from Alexander sharply. 

“It’s hideous, isn’t it? Monstrous.” His voice was dripping in venom, but Alexander suddenly wasn’t sure if the tone was directed towards him, or to the beast himself. 

“I mean… I was right. Right? A bunch of dogs under a hood. Except, you’re only one dog.” Alexander knew he should shut his mouth, but this had always been a problem. He couldn’t just stop talking. 

The thing growled, and finally Alexander went quiet, looking up at him with wide eyes. Everything was deathly quiet, frozen still. Finally, the master huffed loudly. “Come to dinner,” he ordered lowly, and Alexander was reminded of everything he’d been doing. He couldn’t believe it.  Did he think Alexander wouldn’t fight back just because he had an abnormal amount of fur and seemed to be almost twice his height? 

No chance. “No.” The beast exhaled sharply and Alexander watched all the servants and objects move back. It somehow made his blood boil. Were they all seriously just going to cower back and let this ass step on them like this? 

“I told you to come to dinner,” he pressed, stepping closer to the door. 

Somehow, Alexander kept from stepping back, just tilted his head further back. He would not cower. He would not give in. “And I told you no. I changed my mind. I won’t eat with someone who doesn’t know basic manners.” 

Instead of getting angrier like Alexander expected, the beast barked out a humorless laugh. “No manners? How about refusing to take what the host gives them, decided instead to be a difficult brat?” He snapped, making Alexander’s cheeks flush furiously. 

“A difficult brat? Why would I accept anything from you? You imprisoned my father, and then myself, fully intended to leave me in that room until I  _ died _ , probably, and then demand I come to dinner, insulting me when I don’t? Besides, I don’t even know your name.” 

Complete silence, yet again, until the beast spoke up quietly, “Jefferson. Call me Jefferson.” 

Alexander couldn’t believe his ears. “Call you… That’s your name?” 

Jefferson rolled his eyes. “No, I gave you a fake name, not like you’re living in my house. Yes, my name is Jefferson.”

Alexander resisted the very strong urge to sigh heavily. “Fine. My name is Alexander. A pleasure,” he introduced himself blankly, wondering if he should extended his hand, or-

“Will you come to dinner?” A cough from someone behind him. “ _ Please? _ ” 

Alexander looked around. Elizabeth was nodding to him from beside Jefferson, and he could see John’s feathers on the floor behind him, probably attached to Lafayette. There were a couple more knick-knacks, furniture pieces and houseware items scattered around, but Alexander paid them no mind. This was his decision, he decided. On one hand.. He did introduce himself. And he said please. But on the other hand, well, everything else up till then. The yelling, the insulting, the imprisoning… It really outweighed the good things. 

He looked back up at Jefferson and squared his shoulders, trying to seem taller and less weak, maybe. He took in a deep breath, gripped the door, and said, in as clear and unwavering a voice as he could manage, “No thank you.” It was more manners than this dick deserved, but he didn’t particularly want to die, either, so he supposed some sacrifices had to be made. He shoved the door closed, pushing it closed and trying to lock it, though he just gave up when the bar wouldn’t slide through. He stepped back, far enough away that if anything did try and bust through the door, he wouldn’t get hit. 

“Go ahead and starve, then!” Jefferson shouted through the door, and Alexander winced. Even halfway across the room, it still rang in his eardrums. The beast was  _ angry. _ “If he won’t eat with me,” he said quieter, presumably to Lafayette. “Then he won’t eat at all, is that understood?” Jefferson stomped away, heavy footfalls leading away from the hallway. There were scattered murmurs from the rest of the servants, but Alexander could care less. He sat as the desk, tapping his nails against the wood, frowning. He needed to get out. Jefferson’s temper was monstrous and if he stayed, he’d only get himself killed. 

He looked around the room. He could get out the window if he had something to climb down with. Something like.. Like the bedclothes. He hurried over to the bed and stripped it. The big down blanket wouldn’t be much help, but the sheets should be enough to get him to a safe enough height to jump down without breaking his ankle. He ripped them off the mattress, tied them together and strung them out the window. Not quite long enough. Damn high ceilings. He looked around, for something more to tie to the end. The yellow fabric? Would it be strong enough? 

He didn’t have enough time to find out, as there was a knocking at the door, something a lot softer than Jefferson’s banging had been. “Who is it?” He asked cautiously, dragging the tied sheets back into them room and shoving them under the comforter, trying to make the bed look as normal as possible. The door opened to reveal Lafayette, his candles a bit dim. As soon as he saw Alexander, however, they brightened and he smiled. 

“Bonsoir, good evening, mon cher. I trust everything is well?”

“Yeah, except for the fact that I’m stuck here with a beast who has a temper probably shorter than his-” he was cut off by Lafayette’s laughter, which at least made Alexander smile as well. It was contagious. “Sorry. But really, who does he think he is?” 

“The master is.. Well, he is troubled,” Lafayette interjected slowly, but Alexander just rolled his eyes.

“Everyone has troubles! He isn’t special just because his troubles have got him looking like an animal! I’m sure you have problems as well. I know I do. Like… like Washington…” He trailed off, sobering a little as he thought about Washington. Was he safe? Did he make it back to Rochambeau? Had he already forgotten about Alexander, now that he could live a normal life without being hindered by the abnormal persona Alexander held in the town? The thought, although unlikely, made him recoil.

Lafayette was watching Alexander curiously, noticed his little hurt expression. “Come, mon cher, I’m sure you are hungry, oui? You will feel better with food in you,” he said softly, extending a hand - well, candle. 

Alexander shook out of his thoughts, frowned down at Lafayette. “But you heard what he said. We all did. I’m sure all of America heard what he said. If I don’t eat with him, then I don’t eat at all.” The words came out sharp and pointed, his tone bordering on mocking. 

Lafayette merely shrugged, urging Alexander further, out the door. “You said it yourself, mon ami. Master has a short temper, and he says a lot of things in anger. Now, come come.” The candelabra hurried ahead, causing Alexander to huff and try to keep up. For an object shorter than his knee, Lafayette sure was quick. 

Within minutes they were down the stairs and and across the house, in the dining room. Hercules was arguing with Lafayette quietly, and things were flying around and tossing things, setting the table completely even though Alexander was fairly certain he was the only one eating. He stood by the doors, unsure of what to do or where to go. He wanted to help, wasn’t used to just sitting there while other people served him. He wasn’t opposed to the idea of not having to work, but in a place as fancy as this, with actual servants, he didn’t think he should be on the receiving end of servitude. 

His eyes fell on Lafayette and Hercules. The former seemed to be the one in charge, mostly, pausing the argument to shout orders or compliments on the setting. Hercules seemed to be getting irritated with the french candles, crossing his arms, his ticking getting progressively more staccato and growing in volume. 

“The master is right across the parlor, Laf, this isn’t the best idea!” He whispered loudly, but Lafayette just brushed it off.

“Ce n’est pas une problème, mon ami. He is without a doubt caught up in work, or reading, will not even notice.” 

“And if he decides to get up, to get a drink, to do anything?” 

“Then I will do my best to make sure you are the one to get blamed, darling.” Lafayette smiled at Hercules and spun, meeting eyes with Alexander. His eyes shone brighter than his flames, and it was quite clear he was in his element. Showing off, hosting, organizing. This is what he did, anyone could tell. He brought it together so well. “Mon cher, it is lovely to see you out,” he complimented. 

Alexander smiled. “What can I do to help, Lafayette? Can I do anything?” 

The candelabra looked aghast at the question. “Mais non, you are a guest! Guests do not work, guests relax. So come, sit down.” He hopped onto the table, waving Alexander over to sit in the chair at the head of the table, which was being pulled out by a sentient hatstand. 

Despite himself, Alexander sat, looking up at Lafayette expectantly. Lafayette turned, glancing at Hercules, who just shook his head. The frenchman sighed and turned to the other side, where John sent him a smile and nodded exuberantly, flying up to reflect moonlight onto a silver dish, making a sort of spotlight for Lafayette on the table. It was a little shaky, but it worked, and Lafayette smiled charmingly at Alexander, taking a deep breath. 

“Mon cher Alexandre, it is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that we welcome you here in the dining room. We implore you to sit back, relax, as we proudly present to you… your dinner.” He stepped back, music swelled, and Alexander was in awe already. 

Everything happened so fast. Everyone was singing and dancing - an entire choreography just for dinner. Even Hercules ended up belting. There were lights, and music and food flying around, never long enough for Alexander to snatch something. It was teasing, and Alexander was only getting hungrier. 

The final chorus wrapped up, everything disappearing as if by magic, only Lafayette remaining on the table with a plate held out to Alexander. He was breathing hard, making it obvious they didn’t do this everyday. It was unsurprising - he really doubted Jefferson appreciated the music.


	6. Chapter 6

After he’d finally actually eaten - much too slowly, according to Hercules - Alexander was being led back to his room by Elizabeth. Lafayette and Hercules and everyone else was cleaning up dinner, presumably, so technically, there was no one to watch him escape. Except for Elizabeth. But really, what would she do to stop him? 

Alexander hated it, but he almost didn’t want to leave. Everyone was so nice, with the obvious exception, and he felt like he really fit in something he never, ever felt at Rochambeau. He could just stay here, it was obvious everyone wanted him to. But on the other hand, he couldn’t just leave Washington alone. Especially not if it was for his own wants.

Elizabeth was getting ahead, talking to herself softly, seemingly not noticing Alexander slow to an almost stop in the entrance. The doors were right there, he could go. There was nothing stopping him, no one there. He looked around. Elizabeth was gone down the hallway, maybe even up the stairs by then. The rest of the floor was completely silent - he couldn’t hear a thing. He smiled to himself. This was it, then. He could go. He wasn’t sure if Philip was still there, but it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?  He started walking, quick walking across the floor to the front door. He paused at the shout that came from above him, spinning and looking up with wide eyes. Jefferson was standing on the balcony, leaned over the railing as if to grab Alexander. He looked uncharacteristically desperate, for a couple seconds at least before he stood up straighter. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asked, voice back to being cold and snapping. Alexander’s eyes dropped to the servants in the doorway, almost directly underneath Jefferson.

“I’m getting out of here!” He replied, shaking his head and stepping backwards slowly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here, Lafayette.” He turned on his heel and dashed, disregarding the shouts of protest as he dragged open the door and hurried out. 

It was snowing - of course it was snowing - but Alexander couldn’t stop, not now, he was free. He was out. He tripped down the stairs, ran down the path, almost crying in relief upon seeing Philip tied to the same post as when they first got there. With shaking hands, he unwrapped the horse, sending glances to make sure there was no one coming after him. As far as he could tell in the falling darkness, there was no one. He pulled himself onto Philip and sent him off, trying to guide him, well, somewhere. Somewhere far, far away. 

Unfortunately, and quite terrifyingly, he only got so far before Philip starting getting upset, rearing slightly and neighing. Alexander frowned, stroking the animal’s neck gently. “What is it? What do you-” Before he could even finish his sentence, something leapt out at them, causing Philip to rear up, making Alexander cling onto him from dear life before he raced away from whatever that was.  He was going too fast for Alexander even try and look behind them, but even if he could, it would’ve been too dark for him to make out the shapes in the darkness. He would have, however, been able to see the glowing eyes through the trees, and that would have been enough to guess correctly what had attacked, and what would no doubt attack again. Wolves.

The second one came quicker than he expected, ramming into Philip’s side. Thank god there were no trees around, because Alexander went flying off of Philip into the snow. Evidently, they didn’t get that far away from the castle, Alexander thought miserably, before there were wolves approaching. His heart rate picked up significantly and he tried to scramble back, up the snow bank, but there was no purchase. He just slid back down towards his fate. 

This was horrible. This wasn’t how he wanted to die. This wasn’t how he was supposed to die. He hadn’t even fallen in love before. Had never seen the world. Had never put King George in his right place. He had so much to live for, he couldn’t be eaten by wolves!

He was trying to accept the fact that this was it, there was no way out of this, when something big jumped in front of him, snow flying everywhere. Alexander’s reaction was a little bit delayed, he admitted, but his eyes were wide when he realized it was Jefferson. The beast roared at the wolves, but it didn’t make the animals leave. No, they only seemed to get angrier at this, circling around him. Alexander scrambled up, brushing snow off his head and hurrying to his horse. He turned to watch Jefferson fight off the wolves, wincing as he just tossed one into a tree. He supposed it deserved it, but still. 

It was only a couple minutes until the wolves left, whimpering with their tails between their legs. Jefferson turned to Alexander, opened his mouth to say something, and promptly collapsed into the snowbank. Alexander blinked and grabbed Philip’s reins, gearing up to just run, but looking over Jefferson, looking pained and yet peaceful in his dazed, half consciousness, he found he couldn’t run. Didn’t want to run. 

He led Philip back to Jefferson, mumbling softly, and fell to his knees beside the beast, carefully touching his arm. Scratched and bleeding. Looking over the body, he could see the same had been done to his chest, and his cheek. Alexander sighed. He didn’t know how to get him up, let alone get him back to the castle, but he knew he couldn’t leave him here to die. The wolves would come back, he knew they would. So, he carefully brushed a hand over Jefferson’s face, whispering for him to sit up. Somehow, they maneuvered the beast onto Philip’s back, and Alexander began leading the poor horse back to the castle. 

 

A shout rang through the castle halls, sending chills down everyone’s spine - whether literal or metaphorical, most of the servants didn’t have spines - or ruffling feathers. Another yell could be heard after it, although whereas the first one was just some incoherent scream, this one was made of words. 

“Quit complaining and sit still!” 

It was, unsurprisingly, Alexander and Jefferson, in the latter’s bedroom, on the latter’s bed, scowling at each other. Alexander held a basin of water and a clean rag, which he was using - or trying to use - to clean up Jefferson’s wounds. It was the morning after Alexander had tried to run, the morning after Jefferson got himself hurt saving him. 

Jefferson was stubborn about cleaning his wounds, apparently not being partial to pain. After he bled all over his sheets, however, Elizabeth put her foot down - again, metaphorically - and demanded he let Alexander wash him up. Not being able to say no to the teapot, Jefferson gave in, but he insisted on being a difficult little shit the entire time, whining and yelling and complaining until Alexander yelled back. It was weirdly therapeutic, just arguing between each other.

“You don’t tell me what to do. Besides, it hurts,” Jefferson snapped back, crossing his arms, or at least trying to. He winced and slowly let his arms fall back to his sides. 

“Yeah, well, life hurts. Come on. It’ll only take a minute.” When Alexander reached out with the cloth and Jefferson didn’t flinch away, he pressed the damp rag to his arm and dabbed gently, wiping the dried blood away from his skin. He was being as gentle as he possibly could while still touching the beast, but he still pulled away and whined loudly, huffing at Alexander. 

Finally, after much complaining and a very strong urge to slap the beast, they were done, and Alexander dropped the rag back into the basin with a triumphant grin. “There, that wasn’t the worst thing in the world, now was it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yes. Yes it was. It absolutely was.” Jefferson turned away from Alexander and slid down to put his head on the pillow. 

Alexander rolled his eyes, carefully placing the bowl of water on the table next to the bed. “Just try to get some rest, you big baby. It’ll help, I promise.” He stood up, stretching. 

“I am not a big baby,” Jefferson snapped, still not looking at Alexander. “Why did you run away anyway?” He added after a minute. 

Alexander looked at him in some shock. “You can’t seriously be wondering that?” He asked, crossing his arms. “Jefferson, you took my father prisoner, you took me prisoner, you told me I wasn’t allowed to eat just because I didn’t want to eat with you and I’m still angry that you called me a brat.” 

The beast seemed to hesitate. “Well… you were quite rude, don’t you think? I was expecting you to dinner and you just don’t show up with no warning or word.”

Alexander turned slightly. “Okay, but again. The whole imprisonment thing? Kind of ridiculous. Sorry if I don’t want to eat with the guy who decided to keep me locked in an empty room with no food or water or anything, probably until I died. Not just me, either, but my father, an old man who was visibly sick.” He raised an eyebrow. “Besides, I actually had meant to come to dinner anyway. I fell asleep,” he admitted a minute later. 

Jefferson frowned. “You fell asleep?” His tone was one of disbelief.

“The bed in my… In the room is more comfortable than anything I’ve ever even touched before.  Especially after being on the floor all day.” He gave Jefferson a pointed look, which, to his satisfaction and surprise, made him recoil slightly. Smirking smugly to himself, he disappeared into the attached bathroom with the basin and rag.

“I’m sorry for running,” Alexander murmured, after he’d come back from cleaning out the water basin.

“I’m sorry for… making you run,” Jefferson replied quietly, almost as if it pained him to apologize. Still, the words sent a glimmer of hope through Alexander. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Thank you for saving me in the first place.” 

The two met eyes, and neither could help smiling, both shy. 

From across the room, Alexander spots a rose under a glass jar, and walks over, ignoring Jefferson’s weak protests. “It’s pretty, but.. Is it dying?” He took note of all the petals on the dish surrounding the floor. As if on cue, another petal fell, and when it hit the pile, the house shook almost violently. Alexander recognized the feeling - it had happened twice since he’d arrived. “What happens when the last petal falls?” 

“When the last petal falls…” Jefferson started, but didn’t finish his thought. Alexander waited patiently, but soon it became evident that he wasn’t going to continue speaking. 

He took note of the look on his face, and just pursed his lips. “Why don’t you get some sleep?” he suggested softly, stepping away from the rose. He wasn’t done investigating - he was going to ask everyone about it. But for now, Jefferson needed to sleep and heal. 

The beast was fast asleep before long, and Alexander watched him for a while, watched him toss and turn and wondered if perhaps he wasn’t the bad guy after all. Eventually he drew the curtains closed and left him alone, closing the door slowly with a soft click.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only reason I updated so early was because I wanted to ask: I have another story which I am slowly working on, a post apocalyptic Hamilton AU. Would you read it? Let me know in the comments, and if people are interested, I'll start posting it as well as this one!


	7. Chapter 7

He’s asked everyone in the damn house, but no one seems to be willing to answer all of Alexander’s questions. All he’s uncovered is that they’ve had a curse put on all them, which is why they’re, well, objects, and that when the last petal falls, all of them are doomed to remain housewares or furniture forever. Jefferson will remain a beast for the rest of his life. 

He knows there’s an unless in that sentence. There has to be. Magic isn’t one way, even he knows this. It never has been, there’s always a bargain somewhere in there. That and Philip, Elizabeth’s matching teacup, almost admitted the Unless before Elizabeth herself interrupted him, claiming it was not his problem to deal with. 

But Alexander Hamilton was nothing if not determined. He knew the servants all wanted to be human again, to feel the sunlight on their faces, anyone could tell. It wasn’t like they were slick. And he was going to do everything he could to help them, even if he didn’t know what he was supposed to do to help. He was going to figure it out. 

The petals were falling quickly. Every couple of hours, the house would shake, and the servants were slowly losing their human-ness. Elizabeth and Philip’s faces were dulling, Lafayette’s joints were stiffer, John was getting more and more feathered, Angelica could hardly stay awake, and every hour, Hercules would stop and chime the hour. It was bringing everyone down, but they somehow stayed cheerful. Alexander admired them. 

A couple days later, when Jefferson was mostly healed and in an almost permanently better mood, they were all outside. The servants were all playing together in the snow, and Alexander was sitting on a bench, wrapped in a cloak too big for him, reading. John had brought him the book after learning that he liked reading more than anything. The two had grown surprisingly close, and Alexander learned more of his life before the curse. He’d learned more about everyone, actually. It made him feel a lot closer to them, making him more determined than ever to break their curse. 

The only person he didn’t know much about was Jefferson. They’d all confided in him certain facts and stories of his childhood - of how horrible his father was to him, how his mother died when Jefferson was just young. Alexander almost hated to admit they were more alike than he had formerly thought. 

Alexander’s own mother had died of an unknown sickness when he was only 12 - most likely the plague, he knew - and only two years before that, his father just left them, with no word of where he was going or when he’d be back. Alexander had always tried to trick himself that his father would be back, but soon enough he gave up. James Hamilton was no more a part of his life. He’d been left with his cousin, who brought him to Rochambeau originally, but that barely lasted a year before Alexander found Peter in his bedroom one morning, hanging from the ceiling. From there, he’d gone all around the state, in varying homes or streets until he made his way back to Rochambeau, where Washington, a respected and lonely man, took him in. 

He snapped out of it when someone sat next to him - Jefferson. He looked up at the beast, smiling gently. “Good morning,” he mumbled, turning back to his book. Romeo and Juliet. Not the first thing he would have chosen to read. He’d read it before, it was one of the books he had in Rochambeau. But anything was better than no book, he supposed.

“Morning,” came Jefferson’s deep reply, almost too close to Alexander’s ear to be normal. He resisted the urge to look, however. “What are you reading?” 

Alexander closed the book, displaying the cover, being careful not to lose his page. “Shakespeare,” he replied shortly. “Romeo and Juliet.” 

Jefferson gave a full-body shiver. “Not surprised you’d be reading that.” At Alexander’s look of shocked amazement, he sighed. “All that heartache and pining and romance. So many other books to read.” 

Alexander dropped the book, crossing his arms. “Yeah? Like what?”

 

Again, he had to practically run to keep up with Jefferson’s strides. He was clutching Romeo and Juliet to his chest and almost skating across the floor in Jefferson’s trail of snow. He recognized where they were going, to the library he’d seen when he first came. He’d forgotten about it, hadn’t even gone near it, but now he supposed he’d be introduced to it properly. Not that he was complaining.

Jefferson slammed the door open, sauntering - could he call it sauntering? - in and looking around quickly before moving in one direction. “There are plenty of better options here..” He picked out a couple of books until he had a small pile, and turned to Alexander, ready to hand them to him, only to find him stuck in the doorway, looking around in wonder. “Are you… alright?” 

It was somehow so much bigger than he remembered. There were books  _ everywhere _ . Covering every surface, some piled on the floor in front of the bookshelves. It was.. “Amazing. It’s wonderful,” he breathed out, taking a careful step in. 

Jefferson looked around, then back to Alexander with a little shrug. “Yes, I suppose so.” It was obvious he didn’t quite see what was so amazing. He was too used to the room, personally always thought it would be better if it were bigger with more books. 

But from the standpoint of a boy from the smallest little village you could imagine, who lived with a maximum of seven books in his bookshelf at a time, this was the most magical place he could imagine. There were so many books, despite it all being dusty. No one in this place read, he supposed. No matter, he could clean it. He would clean it, just to be able to sit in there for days, just reading. “I wish I could have this many books in Rochambeau.” 

“Rochambeau is where you lived before, isn’t it?” Jefferson asked softly, stepping a bit closer to him. Alexander nodded, his face changing slightly. 

“Mm-hm… My village.” He let out a soft, dry laugh. “My village. I always think of it like that, but really, it's not my village at all. No one there likes me, really, except for Washington.” He didn’t know why he was confiding in Jefferson of all people, but now he couldn’t stop talking. “I never fit in with anyone. They call me funny, but I really doubt it’s a compliment.” 

Jefferson frowned down at Alexander. “Your village sounds awful,” he said finally, earning another small laugh from the smaller male. He handed him the pile of books, tilting his head. “Feel free to stay here as long as you like, then, Alexander,” he murmured. 

Alexander took the books, nodding slightly. “I’d like to. Love to, actually.” He tried to shake off all the memories, tried to forget about Washington for now. He’d draw this out as much as he had to, but he had to get back eventually, even he knew that. However unfortunate it was. 

He let Jefferson tour him around the area, and then the beast left and he was alone. It was definitely tempting to just curl up in one of the chairs by the window in the corner, but he decided it would be much better to clean up first. If he didn’t do it now, he never would. He pushed his sleeves up, tied his hair back and got to work. 

After a while, he got distracted watching Jefferson out the window, playing with the snow, looking around like he was doing something he shouldn’t be. Alexander smiled, tilting his head slightly. He heard a tune from somewhere, looked around. From the parlour, it would seem. He turned back out to the window. It was almost comedic timing, the music, as he started humming along, a bit inspired by this new side of Jefferson. 

He mused softly about how sweet he was turning out to be, continuing along with the cleaning, doing his best to wipe the dust and dirt off the window panes. He was delighted when they lit up the room, filtering in sunlight. The crystal decorations hanging from some of the panes sent rainbows shining across some shelves or the floor, and he laughed happily. It was perfect. He glanced back outside, and blushed when he saw Jefferson looking up at him with a small smile. 

 

Lafayette was watching the two, eyes narrowed. He’d paused in the middle of building a miniature snowman with John, eyes on his master and the library window where Alexander was looking out. He was deep in thought, eyes switching between them, while John was behind him, complaining about having to do the work all alone. Finally, the feather duster came up to Lafayette, fluttering around him. 

“Why aren’t you helping? What are you doing? This was your idea.. Laf? Laffy?” John bumped against the candelabra, huffing softly. “Lafayette!”

Lafayette finally snapped out of it, turning to his feathered love. “Mes excuses, mon amour. It is just..” He turned back slightly, motioning to the beast and the window. “Something is happening, John, my darling, something is there!” His voice raised as he got further into the sentence, getting everyone else’s attention as well. They looked between the two in wonder, mouths open slightly, smiling,  _ hoping. _

“Well, who’d have thought?” John murmured, wrapping himself around Lafayette with a happy hum. 

“Bless my soul!” Elizabeth squealed.

“And who’d have guessed they’d come together on their own?” Lafayette mused, carefully wrapping an arm around John, watching not to burn one of his feathers. “With only a little nudging and convincing,” he added, laughing jovially. 

“Give it a few days more,” Elizabeth murmured, watching the window intently. 

“We’ll be human again!” Hercules exclaimed, his voice loud and happy, and they all cheered, throwing snow up in the air. 


	8. Chapter 8

“Why did he say yes?” Jefferson asked frantically, looking around at the servants surrounding him. “All I did was suggest we have a dance tonight, I never imagined he actually  _ say yes. _ Why did he do that? This is gonna be such a mess!” 

“Non, non, master!” Lafayette said quickly from his perch on the shelf of the vanity where Jefferson was sitting. “This is wonderful! Magnifique! This is your chance to tell him, tell him how you feel!” 

“I don’t know how I feel, Laf. And what makes you so sure he’ll feel the same way? I’m not setting myself up for rejection.” 

“You don’t see the way he looks at you, sir. After you showed him the library he really warmed up to you,” Hercules offered quietly, smiling at the beast’s reflection in the mirror. 

“But why a dance? I didn’t even really mean it - I doubt he can dance anyway, what kind of village boy knows how to dance properly?” He was making excuses now, anything to get out of this seemingly torturous situation he put himself into. 

Lafayette merely clicked his tongue. “You think too little of him, master. He will surprise you, you will see. Now, as for… this.” He waved a candle at Jefferson’s face, smiling sweetly in response to the sour scowl he received. 

 

Meanwhile, Alexander was getting stressed and fretted over by Elizabeth, John and Angelica. Everything they owned didn’t look  _ quite _ right, and according to the trio, everything about tonight had to be perfect. Alexander didn’t see why, but they seemed to be having fun dressing him up, so he didn’t say anything. Except that they’d been doing this for hours, and there was still time before he was meant to meet Jefferson for dinner. He couldn’t take much more of this. But they refused to let him out in just anything. 

He was seriously considering jumping out the window when a thought crossed his mind. He supposed thinking about the window and his makeshift rope brought it back. “Hey, wait - if you come near me with that sequined fabric I swear, Angelica - wait, what about this?” He stepped away from the three, rummaged through the nightstand for a moment before popping up with the yellow fabric. “Would this work? Do you have any more of this?” 

Angelica squinted a bit, but Elizabeth brightened at the sight. “Oh! Oh, Angie, it’s perfect, please tell me you have more of it, it would look so beautiful!” The teapot was almost squealing at the sight of the fabric, eyes bright and shining. Alexander couldn’t help but puff up in pride. He found it, he found the perfect fabric. 

They all cheered when Angelica presented a roll of the stuff. “You can do something with it, right, Angie? You can make it look perfect.”

Angelica huffed and nodded. “Of course I can, dear. I’m a wardrobe, this is my calling.” She shoved the fabric back into her cabinet and crossed his arms. “Give me an hour. Do his hair,” she ordered. Alexander, within seconds, was being pushed over to the vanity. 

Jefferson stared at the mirror in his room, almost unbelieving that the reflection was  _ him.  _ If not for the beastly aspects of his form, he wouldn’t believe it at all. But there was only one person he knew who looked like this, and it was himself. 

Hercules appeared behind him, smiling faintly. “You look good, Jefferson,” he murmured, and he looked at the clock in shock. None of the servants had called him by his name in years. 

He felt a smile slide onto his face and he straightened the jacket slightly, looking back up at himself. “Thank you, Mulligan,” he murmured.

It was strange. He always felt a sort of disconnect with his servants, even Lafayette, who he’d played with as a child. In fact, nearly all of them had been there through his childhood, and yet as he grew up, he started pushing them away. Courtesy of his father, he supposed. That asshole. It rubbed off on him, too, he knew it did. He knew he was being an ass, but he didn’t know how to stop it happening. It was like he was possessed by the mind and spirit of his bastard father. 

But with Alexander in the house, brightening it not only literally - he got yelled at for keeping the curtains closed - but metaphorically as well, he felt closer to them. Even he spent most of the day in his room or his cabinet. He found himself inexplicably drawn to the short man as well, especially after the library. They ate meals together, sometimes walked together. It turned out Alexander enjoyed reading out loud, and it just so happened that Jefferson adored listening to him read out loud. His voice was so clear and he hardly ever stumbled over his words. It was like his entire life was together in those moments, just him and the book and the words. Jefferson hoped Alexander liked those walks as much as he did.

He turned abruptly, eyes trailing over the servants. He took note of the hope in their eyes. He knew what they were thinking, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thinking it as well. This night wasn’t just dancing and dinner. This was his chance to really make Alexander fall in love with him. After all, he had to make someone fall in love with him to break the curse placed on the house.. And judging by the amount of petals left on the rose, and how quickly they were falling, Alexander was his only chance. He couldn’t mess this up. For himself or for the servants.

He nodded, smiling slightly. “I’m ready. Let’s do this.”

 

The dress, to put it plainly, was magical. Somehow, Angelica had completely transformed the fabric into a flowy, layered gown. He felt like he shouldn’t even touch the thing for fear of shattering it. It was.. Well, it was  _ perfect _ . 

And wearing it? Oh, there were no words to describe how Alexander felt. He was sure the emotions were clear on his face, but he couldn’t look up at his face in the mirror, too caught up in the detailing on the dress.

“Oh, honey, you look absolutely angelic,” Elizabeth breathed out, smiling slightly. 

“I love it,” Alexander admitted, touching it gently. 

“Not just the dress, though. Alex,  _ you _ look perfect. Not just the dress, or your hair, or the makeup. You do.” Alexander frowned at the words, at the little riddle within her words, but after a minute, smiled at her. 

“Thank you, Eliza,” he whispered, turning to smile at her properly. Turning back to the mirror, he looked up at his face, and sighed contently. He supposed she was right, she was absolutely right. He looked good. He expected to have a cliché moment of not recognizing himself, but when he looked at himself, he knew exactly who he was.

He was Alexander Hamilton. And he looked  _ good.  _

He followed Elizabeth to the dining room, still utterly entranced with himself. He watched the dress move with each step he took, smiling slightly, almost bumping into the tea tray, not noticing that it had stopped rolling and Elizabeth was looking up at him with a smile. He blushed a bit, but just folded his hands in front of him and sighed. “Is he already in there?” He asked carefully, looking up at the big doors to the dining room.

“Should be, darling, you’re a little late,” the teapot told him softly, smiling a little. “But not to worry. Just go on in.” She tilted a little and motioned for him to walk inside, which, as the doors opened seemingly of his own accord, he did just that. He fluffed up the skirts slightly as he looked around, took in the -mood lighting- with a little smile.

His eyes finally fell onto Jefferson, who had stood up as Alexander stepped inside. His cheeks flushed red as he took in the sight of the beast in dressier clothes, an untorn blue jacket and starch white collar, looking proud and puffed up - and utterly at a loss for words as he looked over Alexander, causing the boy’s cheeks to only get darker. 

“Um- uh, u-um, good evening,” Jefferson stammered, suddenly bending low at the waist, almost falling over at the sudden movement, as if his brain hadn’t yet caught up with his body. 

Alexander stepped in, turned to look at Elizabeth for help - except the traitor was gone, left him alone with the master of the house. He took a deep breath and smiled a little at Jefferson, trying to remember all of his manners. “Good evening,” he replied politely, lowering in a sort of curtsy he hoped was proper and stable. He smiled wider as he lifted back up and moved to the end of the table, where a chair pulled itself out for him to sit. “Thank you,” he whispered into the air, setting himself down carefully, clutching his skirts properly. The chair pushed back into the table and Alexander looked up across to Jefferson, who had sat back down as well.

Dinner was a silent affair, filled to the brim of bordering on uncomfortable silence, stolen glances and appreciative looks, and small, shy smiles whenever one caught the other’s eyes until Jefferson stood, untucking his napkin from his collar and setting it on the table. “I’m finished,” he announced, looking at Alexander pointedly, who hurried to follow suit, lift his napkin from his lap and stand. “Shall we?” 

Together, they walked through to the parlor, which Alexander was delighted to see had been cleared of all furniture. There were little fairy lights hanging from the ceiling and down the walls, and the stars shone just as bright through the large glass doors to the back portico. He gasped in awe at the pure beauty of it, and his arm tightened around Jefferson’s as they stepped further in. “Oh, it’s gorgeous.” He turned to the beast as he made a small noise of confirmation, except he wasn’t looking at the room. His eyes were on Alexander. 

Their cheeks went red and they almost stepped apart, except Lafayette cleared his throat from his spot across the room, on top of an old piano. They were all there - Lafayette, Hercules, Elizabeth and Philip, and John. They were all huddled together, John in Lafayette’s arms, Philip tucked underneath Elizabeth, looking like he might just fall asleep. Alexander smiled, momentarily forgetting his plight of the subtle flirting he was sure he was imagining from the beast, and tilted his head as the piano started playing a couple notes. 

Jefferson pulled away from Alexander to bow again, and Alexander followed suit. After a too long, awkward pose, Alexander offered his hands to Jefferson, who took them gently. They both looked at their entwined hands, wondering how small hands could fit so well in large paws. As the notes swelled and other instruments started adding themselves into the mix, Alexander took control, starting to dance, since it was quite evident Jefferson wasn’t going to. They did some walking, some spinning, both entranced with the way Alexander’s dress moved, before they took position for a proper waltz. Alexander couldn’t reach Jefferson’s shoulder, so he settled for gripping the sleeve of his jacket. 

Elizabeth was singing, and it was so pretty, her voice mingled with the instruments. It fit so well together. Alexander smiled as they waltzed, blushing faintly as he watched Jefferson’s face move. They covered the entire floor before Jefferson spun him and held onto his waist, dipping him almost to the floor. The beast smiled back at him for the first time since they started, and lifted him back up.

Jefferson wasn’t surprised, per se, but he hadn’t at all expected Alexander to know how to dance. At least, not this well. He moved so gracefully, and he looked so beautiful. Not even all the women who attended his lavish balls before the curse could hold a candle to how the man looked, glowing and happy. And the dress - without a doubt Angelica’s work. It was gorgeous - simple, but somehow so intricate and complex, just like the wearer. He dreaded the end of the song, dreaded pulling away from Alexander, but eventually Elizabeth had to end the last note to breathe - funny, that a teapot should need to breathe - and it was only proper to pull away to bow.

Alexander was looking up at Jefferson a bit funny, like he realized something, but he only lowered his head and brushed off his skirt. “Thank you,” he said finally, voice soft and almost shy. 

“It was my pleasure, Alexander,” Jefferson said, and he found he really meant it. He would dance a thousand times with the man if it would only keep him happy. They smiled at each other, unaware of the way the servants were watching them. They filed out silently, leaving the two lovesick idiots alone in the parlor, staring at each other until Jefferson laughed a little. “Come here.” 

He led Alexander out the doors to the portico, where the sky was clear and filled with shining stars. Alexander gasped, stepping out from under the little roof to look up, spinning a little as he took in the sight of the night sky. “Oh, Jefferson, its- its breathtaking,” he breathed out, turning finally to look at the beast. 

“Thomas,” Jefferson mumbled, glancing away from Alexander. “My name is Thomas, call me Thomas.” 

“Oh. Okay, Thomas. Thomas Jefferson. Why does that sound familiar?” Alexander scrunched up his nose, trying to think of where he heard the name before, but nothing came to mind. “Oh well.. Doesn’t really matter, I guess.” 

Thomas smiled down at Alexander and stepped out behind him, his hand finding Alexander’s. They both looked down at their hands, swinging them slightly, blushing and smiling. “Do you like it here?” Thomas asked abruptly, making Alexander look up at him. 

“Well... Yes. I love it here. A lot.” Alexander looked up at the sky, tilting his head. “Everyone is so nice. Lafayette, and John and Elizabeth-”

“Do you like it here with me?” Thomas asked quickly, sounding hopeful. 

Alexander turned his head to smile again at Thomas. “Yes. I do. I love.. it here with you.” 

“Do you think you could stay?” 

He nodded and then shook his head, then shrugged. “I could stay, but Washington - my father. He was sick, and I can’t live not knowing how he is. Without seeing him again.” His voice was apologetic and he turned back to the stars. 

They stood in silence for a while, just holding hands and watching the sky, until Thomas cleared his throat. “What if… there was a way for you to see him?” He asked slowly, letting go of Alexander’s hand to reach into his jacket. He pulled out a small silver hand mirror adorned with gold and bronze roses and leaves, and held it out to Alexander. “Just tell it whatever you want to see, and it will show you.” 

Alexander took the mirror, surprised at how heavy it was, and stared at his reflection. A million thoughts crossed his mind as he looked at the mirror, unsure. What if it showed him something he didn’t want to see? What if Washington was in trouble? Worse yet, what if he was already dead? He hesitated, but held it up. “Show me my father. Show me Washington.” 

His reflection swirled and contorted into a scene of violence, and he went cold with horror at the picture. Washington was being held back by two men from Rochambeau, men Alexander recognized, while none other than George Frederick was standing by, taunting him. He couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t hear what was being said, but the image was enough. He almost dropped it. 

“No, he’s - he’s in trouble, I have to help him, they’re going to hurt him.” The picture swirled back and he was staring at himself again. He turned to Thomas. “Please, let me go. Let me help him.” 

Thomas was looking down at Alexander with great pain in his eyes, but he nodded. “Of course. You can go, you can leave.” Alexander looked back at him, surprised and confused. “Darling, you haven’t been my prisoner for a long time now,” he said softly, his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go. Go to him.” Alexander held up the mirror for him to take, but he just pushed it back. “Keep it. Keep it as a reminder of me.” 

Alexander smiled and held onto Thomas’s hand for a moment before letting go and moving to rush inside to get to the entrance and to Philip. He turned for just a moment, smiling at Thomas. “I..  Thank you.” He nodded and ran off, clutching the mirror to his chest. 


	9. Chapter 9

Alexander couldn’t bring himself to say goodbye to the servants. He knew they were relying on this night to break the curse, perhaps, and here he was, racing away from the house on Philip as fast as he could go. Really, it wasn’t his fault. If they were really going to play the blame game, Washington being sick could be traced back to Jefferson - Thomas, his mind supplied unhelpfully - not feeding him at all. 

Except that Alexander couldn’t blame Thomas, either. He wasn’t sure why - it would be so easy. Of all people, it was him who started it, after all. But his mind refused to cast Thomas as the reason for all this mess. 

As he rode through the woods, suspiciously clear of hungry wolves, his thoughts wandered to the beast. He found it surprisingly that he didn’t  _ want _ to leave him at all. If it weren’t for Washington, for the mirror tucked into a pocket within the folds of his cloak, he would have stayed there, stayed at the house, stayed with Thomas for the rest of his life, he was sure. 

Now why was that? It was a barely a week ago, he was raring for an escape, even tying together his bedclothes and hanging them out the window just so he could leave. So why was he now almost desperate to stay? 

He thought back to everything that had happened since the library. He and Thomas had only gotten closer. They were friends, he dared to say, but when he said it, it didn’t seem enough. Best friends, maybe not, but.. But there was certainly something there, he knew there was. He felt it, the way his heart hurt with each step Philip took, with each tree they passed, the further they got from Thomas. 

So what was it? Alexander knew exactly what it was. He just couldn’t admit it to himself. It wasn’t hard to see, in retrospect. All the looks, the stray touches, the little smiles and compliments - and then that night, the entire night. The dress and the dinner and the dance and the stars, and the way they decorated…

Well, suddenly, it was very clear. Alexander loved him. He loved Thomas. He whispered it to himself, his cheeks going warm, and he knew it was the truth. He loved Thomas Jefferson. Now this, of course, raised new questions, like what the fuck was he thinking? First of all, they were both males. And while he had no inner homophobia - he loved who he loved - other people did. This wasn’t right. Also, Jefferson wasn’t even human. How could he fall in love with a beast? He couldn’t help but wonder if Thomas felt the same. He had to, didn’t he? The way he acted around Alexander, he had to feel the same. But he doubted it. It wasn’t that Alexander thought he was totally undesirable. Oh no, he knew he was cute, but somehow, he didn’t think Thomas would be the kind to fall for someone just because of how they looked. 

Not that it really mattered now anyway. He’d probably never see Thomas again. Washington wouldn’t allow it - if he was even alive to give him permission. And George Frederick. If he really was behind all of it, it would make it awfully hard to fix it all. And there weren’t many petals left on the enchanted rose. He guessed it meant he failed saving them. The thought made his heart sink. Thinking of Elizabeth and Philip, how they’d never play together again, how Philip would never again feel the touch of a mother’s kiss. How Hercules would never get to retire, to just relax for the rest of his days without stopping to look over his shoulder. How Lafayette would never again get to see France, or hold onto John again, and how John would never get to fulfill his ambitions. Angelica would never again see her husband again, wouldn’t ever again advocate for women’s rights. 

Just thinking of all that empty potential, all of the sadness that would be forever trapped within the walls, the heartbreak and hopelessness. There would be no happiness in that house for a long time. 

And his poor Thomas. Doomed to remain a beast for the rest of time, alone and confined to the house. There would be no more hope, no more light, no more warmth. Alexander didn’t want to think about it. He tried, he really had - but apparently not hard enough. He knew it wouldn’t do to berate himself about it. After all, he hadn’t even known how to break the curse. But the servants had made it painfully clear how he was the only one who could possibly dream of breaking it, dream of freeing them from the inanimate hell that was lying at the end of their path. And he failed. He failed them, failed them all. Oh, it hurt. 

But he couldn’t stop now. No, not when Washington might die. Not this close. He had to know at least one good thing in his life was alright. He flicked Philip’s reins, urging the horse to go impossibly faster, pleading and praying that he was alright. 


	10. Chapter 10

Jefferson didn’t know what to do now. There would be no getting out of anything now. There were only a couple petals left - an evening. They’d be gone by midnight, or at the very latest, the next morning. 

It was his fault. He knew it was. He started all this because he was bitter and alone and out of hope. And then this little flutter of hope comes along in the form of a man, the prettiest, most intelligent, most amazing man he’s ever met, and he just has to crush that as well. There was no excuse. He single handedly doomed himself and all his servants, all of these innocent people who stayed with him that one night - why? Why did they stay with him? Because it was their job? No. No, that wasn’t it. They could have left. They had time to leave, had time to escape before the enchantress cursed them too, turned them into objects. 

The more he racked his brain, the less he found it possible to come up with an answer. He was a spoiled kid, the brattiest prince you could imagine, and yet they all stayed, all of them, by his side. Why?

“Because you were scared, honey,” a voice came from behind him, and he spun to see the group of them. It was Elizabeth that had spoken, looking at him sadly. 

“I was.. I was… scared?” Thomas’s voice was broken, so, so small, but none of them commented on it. This was a lifetime of fear, of sadness and loneliness. 

“You were alone, Thomas,” Lafayette said softly, and Thomas looked at the candelabra. 

“There was no way we could’ve done nothing. Not again.” Elizabeth spoke again, her voice firmer and more certain that before. 

“Again?” 

“Of course, again. The first time - when your father took you and twisted you up into a version of himself, how he ruined Thomas Jefferson into another Peter Jefferson - we did nothing. None of us could make the same mistake.” Elizabeth shook a little, looking disappointed. But not in Thomas, no. The disappointment was meant for herself. “I apologize on behalf of all of us, I think.” 

Thomas struggled for words. He had no clue, had no idea they thought this way. How could he miss it? It wasn’t their fault. His father would have killed them for interfering with anything. They couldn’t have done anything. He couldn’t think of anything to say, so he settled for, “I let him go.” 

He turned away quickly, but it didn’t shield him for the gasps and sounds of shock and dismay. “Why would you do that?” “We were so close-” “Just another day-” 

“Everyone shut up!” John had floated up from where he’d been and was squinting at Jefferson, his wings crossed. He hummed thoughtfully when Thomas turned back around to face him, and smirked proudly. “I thought so.” He turned to face the rest of the household and nodded. “He let Alex go because he loves him.” 

Thomas almost choked on his own spit. “I did what?” He demanded. 

John just sank back down to lean into Lafayette with a self-satisfied look. A moment later, he finally repeated himself. “You love Alexander.” 

Before Thomas could even reply, Lafayette frowned a little. “Well, mon amour, if that is so, why are we not human again?” 

“The answer to that is simple,” Angelica said softly, as if the answer pained her to think about. “Because Alexander doesn’t love him back.” She looked up at Thomas apologetically. 

“Well, wait now. I don’t think that’s it at all,” Elizabeth cut in quickly, frowning. “Alexander just hasn’t realized it yet.” 

“Either way, now it’s just too late,” Hercules huffed. “He’s gone and probably not going to ever come back.” 

Alexander made it to the town just as Washington was being thrown in the jailer’s carriage. Everyone was just standing around watching, not bothering to do anything - and King George was at the head, smirking smugly as the scene unfolded. 

He slid off of Philip in one smooth motion, gathering up his skirts as he marched over to George. “What are you doing?” He demanded, glaring up at the man.

King’s smirk only seemed to grow as he looked down at Alexander. “Why, we’re simply watching a madman being taken to the madhouse. There’s nothing odd about that, is there?” 

Alexander merely huffed and spun to hurry up to the door of the carriage, looking in at Washington. “Alex, oh, I thought I’d lost you. I thought I’d never see you again.” Washington smiled up at Alexander in relief, gripping at one of the doors. 

Alexander touched his hand softly, whipping around again to look at King and all the villagers. “Let him out!” He glared as coldly as he could, but it didn’t seem to haze King as he slid closer to wrap an arm around Alexander’s shoulders, pulling him away from the carriage, away from Washington.

“I’m very sorry about your father, my dear,” he said smoothly, his voice soft and almost too sugary.

“You know Washington isn’t crazy, George,” Alexander replied, his voice like ice, crossing his arms and shrugging his arm off his shoulders. 

The arm slithered its way around his waist instead, of course it did. “I might be able to clear up this…  _ little  _ misunderstanding,” King told him, looking down at the man. “For a price, of course.” Alexander raised an eyebrow, just waiting for the blow, and King grinned. “All you’ll have to do is marry me, sweet thing.” 

Alexander almost shivered at the thought. “What? No, I-” He cut himself off, glancing back at the carriage. Washington was looking at them with wide eyes, shaking his head. It was evident where he stood on the proposal, but still Alexander still hesitated. If it was the only way to free Washington.. He’d surely die in the asylum. Alexander knew how they treated their patients. 

King knew Alexander hesitated. It was obvious in the way his eyes shined brighter and his smirk grew. “He was raving like a lunatic about some beast, darling, it’s obvious he’s lost it completely. Marry me, and you won’t have to worry about taking care of him. Or yourself. I have people for that.”

Alexander frowned. “Wait a second. A beast?” He looked up at King, then at the rest of the villagers for confirmation. They nodded, and Alexander laughed a little breath. What a stroke of luck. “He’s not crazy! There is a beast!” 

It was obvious King wasn’t expecting this, but he made a speedy recovery and chuckled. “Oh, but Alexander, we all know you’d say just about anything to free your poor father. That’s hardly proof.” 

Alexander’s blood boiled and he pulled out the mirror. “You want proof? I’ll give you proof, jackass.” Before his brain could tell him this was a bad idea, he held up the mirror and said in a clear voice, “Show me the beast!” His reflection in the mirror swirled into a picture of Thomas, who was looking devastatingly heartbroken. Alexander struggled with this for a moment before turning it around to show everyone else, eliciting gasps and cries from the crowd.

King snatched the mirror from Alexander, inspecting it. “This is sorcery!” He declared, looking at the picture. He dragged little Samuel Seabury closer to see it. “Look at the fangs! The claws! It’s dangerous!” 

“Oh, no, George, not at all!” Alexander gasped, shaking his head. “He’s kind, and gentle! He wouldn’t hurt anyone! He’s my friend!”

George let out a dry laugh. “He’s not your friend, Alexander, he.. He has you under his spell!” He turned the mirror back to the man. “See these teeth? They were made to kill, sweetheart. Not to love.” He turned back to the villagers. “This is a threat to our village. We need to get rid of it! We need to kill the beast!” He announced, and cheers and shouts erupted from the group in agreement.

Alexander’s eyes widened. “Gaston, no, please! Please don’t do this!” He gripped at the man’s arm, only to get thrown off. He hit the door of the carriage with a grunt, and he almost slid to the ground. He glared up at King and met his eyes. 

“We can’t chance anyone warning the monster. Lock him up with his father!” King decided, waving in Alexander’s direction. After lots of struggling, Alexander was thrown almost on top of Washington, and the door was slammed and locked behind them. Alexander watched helplessly as the villagers were so easily manipulated into an angry mob, as they were led off by King to go kill his friends. His beast.

“We need to get out! We need to go back, I need to warn him,” he gasped, trying to pry open the bars or shove open the doors. 

“Go back? What are you talking about? You just escaped,” Washington said, obviously confused. He was gripping the end of Alexander’s dress, watching him.

Alexander glanced back and smiled, moving to settle on his knees beside George. “No, not escaped. He let me go, father.”

George frowned. “He let you go? Why would he..” 

“Because he’s my friend, George. And I…” Alexander hesitated. He knew it was the truth. He loved Thomas Jefferson. He covered his mouth slightly, looking at George with wide eyes, and all at once, he understood. “I need to get to him. I need to save him before King kills him.”

Washington nodded quickly and looked around. “Look, a hole.” He motioned to the top of the carriage. Indeed, there was a small opening in the roof, just big enough that with a little pushing, Alexander could slide out. 

Minutes later, he was back on Philip, racing away to the sound of yelling from the jailer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry y'all I was sick


	11. Chapter 11

####  Chapter Eleven

The servants were all sitting in the entrance, watching out the windows for any sign that Alexander might return. So far, no dice. He wasn’t coming back.

After a while, Lafayette gave up and moved back, nuzzling into John with a sigh. “At least he has finally learned to love,” he said quietly, referring to the mourning beast just rooms away. 

“Fat lot of good that does us now,” John started saltily, resting his head on his wings on the windowsill, “if Alexander doesn’t love him back.” Lafayette shushed him, stroking his back gently with his arm.

“Alexander does love him back. I’m sure he’s right on his way back,” Elizabeth told them. The cheerful optimism in her voice was so forced it was almost sickly.

Before anyone could say anything, Philip perked up and looked out the window, nearly falling right out of his saucer. “Look! Listen to that, is that him?” 

Everyone turned to look out the window, eyes wide and hopeful, but it wasn’t Alexander at all. Rather, it was a small army, brandishing torches and guns and swords, yelling angrily - singing. Chanting. It took them a couple minutes, just watching the mob get closer, to realize exactly  _ what _ they were chanting. Kill the beast. Kill the beast.

“Oh, this is no good,” John moaned, pulling away from the window and from Lafayette to check that the doors were locked. “Someone has to go warn the master!” 

“I’ll go!” Hercules hopped off his perch and toddled away towards Thomas’s bedroom. The rest of them continued to watch out the windows until Hercules came back - which he did rather quickly, looking embarrassed. “Um.. he says it doesn’t matter. We’ll all die anyway, why not welcome it?” At the looks of shock and bewilderment, he explained himself quickly. “Not what I said! That’s what Jefferson said!” 

Everyone looked rather put-out at this, frowning and looking around. “So.. what do we do?” Philip asked finally, huffing a little at their inability to  _ do _ something. His childlike innocence was infallible.

Thankfully this seemed to wake up Lafayette, who puffed out his would-be chest and shook his head. “I am not going to let these angry people destroy my house!” He announced. “We go into battle!” He added quickly, and looked less than pleased when all he got were a couple mumbles. “Oh, come now, mes amis! How can you let this army just overtake us? Were we not soldiers in the army ourselves?” He asked Hercules impatiently. 

Hercules nodded slightly, but opened his mouth to say something. Lafayette just talked over him quickly before he could get anything out. “So? So how is this any different? We are having to defend ourselves and our house from the enemy, non?” 

“Yeah!” Philip said exuberantly, bouncing a little in his saucer. He grinned at Lafayette. “We need to be bold and defend ourselves!” 

Lafayette let out a bright noise of agreement, smiling. “The boy understands! Come now, my friends, and we will teach these idiots to mess with us!” 

 

“Go faster, Philip, faster!” Alexander knew that going faster was pointless. No matter how fast he rode, King and his mob would get to the Monticello before he would, but still. He needed to be there. If he could at least be there. If he could only tell Thomas that he did love him before it was too late. Then everything might be alright.

 

Thomas watched out the window of the dome room. He’d moved up there after Hercules came to warn him about the approaching menace. He watched the men get closer, a bit slowed down. The man at the front - King George Frederick, Thomas realized. Alexander’s harasser. A sudden thought coursed through him, making everything go cold. Alexander. Where was he? Not in the crowd. Back in his village? Had he already forgotten about Thomas? Or- Or was he the one who sent the mob? To kill him for revenge? Was it all just an act to get freed?

 

King George smiled slightly as they approached the doors. He glanced down at the mirror to confirm it was the place, and turned on his horse to regard the crowd of angry villagers gathered around him and the stairs. “This is it, men.” He turned to look up at the house and back to the group. “Knock yourselves out, but the beast… the beast is for me to kill.” With that, he waved his hand. 

 

The servants stayed motionless in the entrance as the mob entered, careful not to move at all. The longer they could stay still, the more the mob could relax, and then the attack would commence. They had the upper hand, after all. The element of surprise. Hercules waited to give the signal from the mantle, facing Lafayette, who would then motion to Elizabeth and Philip. It was a surprisingly sophisticated attack, given the amount of time they had to plan it.

 

Alexander finally reached the house. He sighed as he watched the cacophony from outside, slumping on Philip’s back. “I hope we’re not too late,” he murmured, bring the horse around to the side so he might slip in mostly undetected by the rest of the villagers. He slid off of Philip and hurried up to the side door, peering inside. He’d check Jefferson’s bedroom and his cabinet first, he decided - then upstairs. 

 

Thomas sat on the roof, having climbed out of the dome. He stared down at the villagers, the ones who were already running out in fear, screaming. Were his servants that desperate to defend him? To defend themselves? When they were just going to die soon anyway? There were only a few petals left on the rose, it was almost no use. Fighting was pointless. 

 

It didn’t take King long to find the beast, hunched over next to the open door on the roof. He smiled as he stalked over his prey, gripping his gun tightly. Before he said anything, he paused to choose his words with precision. What would cut him the most? “Beast?” He asked carefully, standing in the middle of the dome room. When the figure turned, he grinned wider. “My name is King George. Alexander sent me here to kill you.” 

 

The servants cheered as all of the enemies disappeared out the doors and back into the trees, anything to get away from the fight. They hugged each other, rejoicing and laughing. “Our honor and house is protected one day more!” Lafayette announced, causing them all to erupt in more happiness from the lot of them. No one noticed the figure sneaking by to get up the stairs.

 

Alexander searched for Thomas and King, checking in all the rooms before making his way back upstairs to check. He froze in the open doorway of the dome room, at the picture before him. George was hovering over Thomas, clutching a bayonet and speaking softly, but sharply. He could see it in his face. Thomas looked like he’d like nothing more than to just toss himself right off the roof onto the front portico. “George, no!” he cried, feeling stuck in the doorway. He couldn’t bring himself to move closer to the two.

 

Thomas perked up at the noise, spinning to look at Alexander. His Alexander, who came back for him. He looked up at the man beside him, who had his gun pointed at him in a hurry. His eyes narrowed and he stood up slowly. “You said Alexander sent you,” he hissed softly, watching the fear grow in George’s eyes. “You said there was no chance he could love me all this time, that he was engaged to you already anyway. You  _ lied _ .” 

 

King couldn’t believe his eyes. Alexander, right there, a mere couple of feet away from him. “I left you with your father, what are you doing here?” He hissed. Before Alexander could even open his mouth, he turned back and jabbed the beast’s shoulder with the end of his gun. “Well, no matter. Now you’re here. Now you can have a front row seat in watching me kill your precious beast.” 

 

Everything seemed slow motion. King raised the gun, ignoring Alexander’s cry. He stepped back and aimed - but nothing shot. There was a horrible wrenching noise and the gun flew out of King’s hand, knocked off the roof completely with one swing of Thomas’s arm. The beast stood, a bit lumbering, towering over King with a glare. He lowered himself to snarl in his face, not yet looking at Alexander. 

“I am not a beast,” he growled slowly, and in one sudden moment, faster than the blink of an eye, he had King suspended over the edge of the roof, gripping at his neck.

“Thomas, no!” Alexander cried, and finally found it in him to move from the doorway.

Thomas looked back at Alexander, eyes wide and filled with an indescribable emotion. In that one second of hesitation, King managed to yank out his hidden pistol and shoot Thomas right in the stomach, earning himself a free ticket right down to the ground below.

The only thing that was heard was the echo of the gunshot and a crunch below on the ground, seeming to be in slow motion, before Alexander screamed and Thomas cried out, falling to his knees on the edge of the roof. Alexander found himself and raced forward, managing to catch Thomas and lay him down properly on his back before he fell over as well. 

“Thomas.. No,” Alexander whispered tearfully, gripping his shirt, trying to keep the blood from seeping all the way up. 

Thomas coughed a couple times, looking up at Alexander with the most bewildered look. “You came back,” he said simply, blinking at him.

“Of course I came back, you idiot. I-” He’s cut off by Thomas coughing more, curling up and groaning. “No. No, stop, Thomas. It’s okay. It’s okay, we’ll fix you and you’ll be okay and I’ll never leave you again,” he promised hastily, moving up to grip his face, looking in his eyes, searching.

Thomas ignored what Alexander was saying, reaching up to touch his face carefully, cupping the man’s cheek. Alexander leaned into the touch, his eyes filling with tears. “Don’t cry, Alexander. You’re prettier when you smile,” he rasped, his eyes starting to close. 

Alexander smiled weakly for about three seconds before his face crumpled as he watched his love close his eyes. The hand fell from his face just as the last petal fell from the rose, causing the house shook and everything to go dark with a final cry from Alexander.

“No! Thomas, no, listen to me. Thomas Jefferson, if you don’t open your damn eyes right now..” When nothing happened, he had to bite back a sob. He sat there for a second, just staring at the sky, before leaning down to press a very careful kiss to Thomas’s forehead. “I love you.”

With minor difficulty, he stood up, the weight of defeat settling over his bones. There was nothing left to do now except to return to Rochambeau and accept the fact that he would never be the same again. He now understood how Washington felt when he talked about his late wife. There was no greater heartbreak than losing the love of your life. He turned away and shivered a little, glancing out along the tops of the trees. The wind was suddenly cold, and everything was dim. Even the yellow of the dress he still had on seemed dirty and dull. He wiped at his face, but tears kept coming. He couldn’t stay. If he stayed, he would never leave. 

He was halfway across the room when there was a gasp from behind him and a little burst of light across the walls. He spun, eyes wide, afraid of what he’d see - and what he did see was marvelous. There he was, his Thomas, standing in the middle of a ball of light and golden dust and beautiful swirls. Except it wasn’t his Thomas, it was a man. A human, that is to say. And oh, he was gorgeous.

Alexander let out a soft noise, covering his mouth as he took a small step forward as the light dissipated, leaving the man looking disoriented and confused - until his eyes fell on Alexander. His face lit up with a breathtaking smile and he took a step, extending his arms. “Alex,” he said simply, and just like that, the spell was broken and Alexander was running forward, knocking into the man and wrapping around him.

“Thomas,” he gasped, his eyes welling up again with a sniffle. “You’re here, you’re you, you’re alive,” he rambled, gripping at the man’s too-big, ripped up shirt. 

“I’m alive,” Thomas confirmed, pulling away only slightly to look at Alexander. “Darling,” he said softly, tilting Alexander’s chin up a little to look at him better. He smiled slightly and brushed a tear off of his cheek. “Don’t cry. You’re prettier when you smile.” 

Alexander let out a strangled noise, cheeks going pink as he shoved Thomas’s arm a little. “Shut up. Leave me alone.” 

“Alexander?” Thomas asked quietly, prompting the shorter man to look up again. “I love you too.” 

This was all the invitation Alexander needed to tug Thomas’s face down and kiss him properly, his hands sliding up from Thomas’s collar to link behind his neck, pulling him closer. Thomas’s hands found Alexander’s waist and he was held tight against him, in an embrace that neither never ever would want to give up.

Finally they pulled back, however, to breathe heavily and smile. “I love you,” Alexander whispered again, and Thomas kissed him once more in response - only to break apart at the sound of cheers from the ground. They looked down and there were the servants, human again just as they wished, grouped together on the grass, beaming up at the couple. Thomas blushed, but Alexander grinned back and waved. 

“Let’s go down to see them!” he whispered, turning back to Thomas with a bright smile than Thomas found himself unable to say no to.

“Of course, sugar. But only if you kiss me again.” 

“Like I’ll ever say no to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cried while rereading this chapter. I think that says a lot.  
> Its the end though! How disappointing.. I hope it was good. Let me know what you thought of the ending!!  
> In other news, as if I don't have enough writing, I might start a book for short requests, but I'll need you people to actually request things. As always, let me know!  
> Thanks for reading!


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